


Phone Sex

by mymishaandjensenfic (ljunattainable)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, cockles co-operative, gishwhes inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/mymishaandjensenfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha's found a battered old fashioned rotary dial phone that he's trying to get a gishwhes item out of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:  
> Gishwhes 2016 Item #158
> 
> If there’s one thing all of us over the age of 35 are nostalgic for it’s the rotary dial phone. We pine for that satisfaction of being able to insert our fingers in that hole and spin the dial. Help bring us back to those halcyon days: Make a smart-phone app that interfaces with a real, old-fashioned rotary phone. (Note: this must not be an app that renders a digital simulation of a rotary phone. It must be an app that somehow works in concert with an actual rotary phone.)

Jensen knocks on Misha’s trailer door but it’s a token gesture at best, more out of habit than respect for any semblance of privacy that Misha may be under the impression he has. 

When Jensen walks in, Misha’s sitting at the small trailer table, with his back to the door, and he only gives Jensen a second’s cursory glance over his shoulder before turning back to whatever has his attention on the table in front of him.

“Have you come to help?”

“Nah, I’ve only got a few minutes before I have to go back. Help with what, anyway?” Jensen heads for the fridge and roots through the meagre offerings that Misha has stored in there. 

“Just trying something out,” Misha says. There’s a background whirr and clunk. “So you just came to raid my fridge?”

Jensen has a choice of beer or cold tea. It’s only eleven in the morning, but he grabs a beer because cold tea. Ew.

“There’s nothing in your fridge to raid. Do you want some of this tea stuff? And what are you trying out?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, thanks. I’ve just had something. Do you remember these?” Misha says, turning around holding an old black phone in his hand. It’s got a rotary dial, and a heavy receiver, and worn through black cord only barely still connecting the receiver with the phone itself. It’s battered and scraped and looks as if Misha found it in a dump.

“Vaguely.” Jensen sits down at the table and reaches out putting his finger through the number nine hole and twirling the dial around. The dial makes a whirring noise, then it falls off onto the table with a clunk.

“It keeps doing that,” Misha says, frowning at the phone.

“Are you trying to fix it, or what? Because if you’re bored I can find you something more useful to do?” Jensen takes a mouthful of beer. 

Misha huffs out a heavy sigh. “You’re right. I’m just going to add it anyway.”

“Add it…?”

“To the gishwhes item list.”

“Ah,” Jensen says.

Misha picks up the dial from the table and sticks a finger through one of the holes, twirling it around. “I think I’m going to get them to write a smartphone app to run one of these old phones,” he says, pushing the dial down his finger until he can’t get it any further. Jensen watches idly, checks the time on his watch and takes another glug of beer. 

“Is that even possible? I couldn’t do it,” he says.

“Me neither,” Misha says, fiddling with the dial, trying to pull it back off his finger. “But there’s a lot of intelligent people out there. Someone will figure it out.” He tugs again at the dial, which seems to have got stuck just past the first knuckle.

Jensen chuckles, downing the rest of his beer. “Well, sorry to love you and leave you, but I’ve got to go to work,” he says, standing up. “Good luck with that.”

Misha tugs again on the dial. “It’s stuck. Are you just going to leave me like this?”

“Just break it. The whole thing’s falling apart anyway.”

Misha tugs harder on the dial. “I don’t want to break it.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because,” Misha says.

“What are you? Two? Okay, fine.” Jensen can be two minutes late. He looks around the bare trailer. “Have you got any butter?” he asks, not particularly optimistic. Misha keeps fuck all in his trailer. 

Misha shakes his head. 

“Soap, then?”

“Only that ecological stuff, but that won’t do. It’s not slippery or suddy.”

Jensen huffs in frustration. “Well, what have you got?”

Misha shakes his head again. “Nothing. What about in your trailer?”

“I have to be on set. I don’t have time to go and get anything,” Jensen says, staring at the dial stuck on Misha’s finger looking for inspiration. 

“You could spit on it.”

“You could spit on it,” Misha counters.

“Dude, it’s your finger. I’m not going to spit on it.”

“Well maybe you could just suck it a bit and dribble,” Misha says. Jensen’s head snaps up. Misha’s grinning salaciously at him, which is both disconcerting and alluring.

“How did we go from ‘my finger’s stuck’ to ‘I want to have sex with you’ so quickly?”

Misha shrugs. “Personally, ‘my finger’s stuck’ always leads quite quickly to thoughts of sex with you.”

Jensen swallows. “Not fair,” he says huskily, “I’ve got to go to work.”

“Pity,” Misha says. He leans back in his chair, and sucks at the tip of his trapped finger with unnecessarily obscene noises. He pulls it out of his mouth with a loud plop, leaving it wet and slick, a little pool of spit collecting where the dial meets his finger.

“You’re a bastard,” Jensen says.

Misha wiggles his finger and the dial moves a little. “Just a bit more and I think we’re there,” he says and presents his finger to Jensen with a wink.

Jensen knows Misha doesn’t expect him to do anything with the finger, but doing what Misha doesn’t expect is one of Jensen’s greatest pleasures. He sucks Misha’s finger down to the knuckle in one quick movement, humming in amusement at Misha’s surprised intake of breath. He sucks hard, making Misha’s finger soaking wet and dripping with spit, then he drags his mouth up and away with a self-satisfied smirk at Misha’s dumbfounded expression. 

“Think of me when you jerk off,” Jensen says, turning and heading for the door, trying to think of cold showers and definitely not of Misha jerking off.

“Always,” he hears Misha croak as Jensen shuts the trailer door behind him.

It’s another thirteen hours before Jensen gets home that evening, Misha’s already long gone from set which Jensen thinks is a huge pity. He briefly thinks about calling him but Misha’s probably catching some much needed sleep and Jensen’s not quite that mean or that selfish. 

He hangs his jacket on the stand in the hall and toes off his shoes. A nightcap, a bit of personal time in the shower before the memories of earlier fade too much, maybe some TV, perhaps he’ll even –

The phone interrupts his internal monologue and Jensen smiles when he sees the caller ID. 

“I’ve got my finger stuck in the phone dial again,” Misha’s voice says through the speaker. “I thought you might be able to help me get it off.”


End file.
